


Night of the Long Gunner

by Persephone



Series: In The Making [2]
Category: Black Hawk Down (2001)
Genre: Long Term Relationship, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pigeons in the hangar think they own the place, until one of them goes too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night of the Long Gunner

Earl Fillmore had no fucking shame. But Gary could understand where he was coming from.

Even with the steady sea breeze from the permanently open front hangar doors, and even being night, it was hot as sin in there. It must have been a hundred degrees in the hangar, with humidity to match.

Earl was parading back and forth across their part of the hangar floor, stark naked except for a Viking helmet he had made sporting boar tusks from one of their Black Hawk hunting expeditions.

Gary crossed his ankles on one edge of Randy’s cot and took another swig of water from his bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scraping it against his teeth, he was grinning so hard in the midst of the roaring laughter around him.

There was a trail of Rangers following Earl around, like a line of tribesmen or something, obviously itching to take their clothes off and imitate. If a D-boy did it, Rangers tripped over themselves wanting to do it.

Gary snickered quietly as he dribbled water on his thigh, then spread the cool liquid up and down his skin.

“I would at least require _some_ kind of protection over my more delicate parts,” Randy said from his cot.

Gary stopped splashing water on his legs and looked up at him. Randy was tapping his index finger on his mouth, intently studying Earl’s retreating figure.

“Randy, please,” Gary smiled. “You have the modesty of a Victorian maiden. You would require some kind of protection over every part of you.”

Randy flicked his eyes at his own shorts-clad legs. “Obviously an overstatement.”

Gary looked, but let his eyes linger much longer, even though he didn’t have to in order to see Randy’s point. He had been looking for over half an hour now while they talked about the effects of warmer temperatures on a bullet’s trajectory.

Randy moved his legs slightly to accommodate his gaze and Gary took a sip of water without blinking, showing no further reaction. Randy, sprawled across his cot with his arm behind his head, sweating in his shorts and T-shirt, was testing him.

“I think your skills of observation might be suffering from lack of use,” Randy said quietly when Gary didn’t say anything in response to his comment. “That’s worrying news for a sniper.”

“Actually,” he countered smugly, “I’ve been excelling for nearly an hour.”

He nonchalantly carried on dribbling water over his legs and spreading it all over. Now he could hear Randy breathing.

“In the last fifteen minutes you’ve shifted six times,” he went on. “Four times with your left leg, and twice with your right.”

When the silence stretched, he looked up. Randy was watching his hand move across his thigh. As Gary looked, Randy’s index finger lifted from where it lay on his stomach and flicked up twice, their signal for _higher_. Gary lowered his head and suppressed his grin.

Then a screamed, _“Fuck!”_ ruptured the lethargy of the sweltering night.

Immediately on its heels were screeches of hysterical laughter, then someone screaming, “One of the pigeons took a shit on Earl’s dick!”

 _“What?!”_ came a bellow from Sanderson, from somewhere in the midst of their cots. “ _Nobody_ takes a shit on Delta!”

Randy laid back and closed his eyes while Gary got up to follow the commotion.

Earl was cursing nonstop, standing in the middle of a circus ring, staring down at his white-stained member. Gary looked on in mild disbelief.

“The pigeon that accomplished that must have had remarkable trajectory,” he commented to no one in particular. “Not to mention aim.”

Sanderson, standing next to him, turned and stared at him. Gary glanced at him, saw the gleam in his eyes, and groaned.

“Jeff, no.”

Sanderson grinned. “Those fuckers have been terrorizing this base long enough.”

“I am _not_ cleaning that up,” one of the Rangers was wailing. “I’ve been on pigeon-shit duty for far too fucking long. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“See?”

“Rangers get shit on, that’s their problem.”

“Earl just got nailed, and that, my friend, is one operator too many.” Jeff turned and whistled at the congregated Rangers. “You guys still got those pellet guns and rifles? Well then, sniper training session in five.”

The Rangers whooped in delight and a couple scrambled to retrieve their stash of pellet guns, ecstatic for another opportunity to watch D-boys turn into instruments of righteous ass-kicking. Using nothing but pellet rifles.

Gary shook his head in resignation and Sanderson grinned and slapped his back. “They absolutely need the training,” he insisted, already turning to stalk down the row of cots towards the other Delta operators.

Gary watched happiness spread over the Rangers side of the hangar, then sighed and made his way to the main doors for a good position to watch the one-sided battle go down. Assault team guys were nuts, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. They would even no doubt convince serious minded snipers to join in.

Over by the doors Hoot stood shirtless, his long, chiseled torso gleaming under the electric lights, his camos tucked into his boots and a pellet gun already stuck into the waist of his camos.

Hoot was staring intently at the pigeons nesting above their heads, estimating range with his naked eye.

Gary went over to him and realized that the handful of Rangers shifting somewhat nervously near them were arguing over which of them would get to team up with Hoot.

He stopped next to Hoot and gazed up at the perched pigeons. “What’s your range estimation?”

Hoot popped something into his mouth and chewed. Man, was the guy always eating?

“Well, their color don’t much contrast with the ceiling, so they’re probably not much closer than they actually look.” He looked over at Gary, thinking. “But their outlines _are_ irregular, so that might make them look closer than they…”

Hoot’s voice faded until it was gone. His chewing slowed to an occasional lick as his eyes tracked movement behind Gary’s shoulder. He seemed unaware that he had stopped talking.

Gary looked over his shoulder and saw the new private from Beales’ unit striding giddily on the balls of his feet towards his friends, who were now actually drawing lots to decide who would team up with Hoot.

Gary turned back to Hoot, whose eyes had narrowed into slits. “Why don’t you take the baby Ranger,” he said as evenly as he knew how.

Hoot’s expression remained the same. He popped another piece of what Gary assumed was cashew nuts into his mouth and finally looked back up at the ceiling. “I might.”

Gary wished him luck and continued past him to where Randy had taken up a kneeling position near one wall. He was only vaguely surprised to see that Randy was taking part, but he must have had his reasons.

One of the Rangers, Dale Sizemore, was kneeling next to him, his blue eyes dilated with excitement as he stared at Randy testing his sights on a rifle.

It only took a few seconds after sitting on the floor for Gary to realize that Dale’s flushed excitement wasn’t being caused by the rifle.

It was quite something to see. They didn’t call the kid “Adonis” for nothing, and even his Ranger buzz cut couldn’t detract from his big blue eyes and full red lips. The kid was single-handedly steaming up their dim corner of the hangar.

Gary watched in amused silence as Randy, wearing his knee pads over his unclothed knees, knelt as still as a statue while Dale fidgeted beside him. Randy slanted him a look, and Dale froze, unnerved. Gary twisted his lips to hide his smile.

While Randy waited on the guys triangulating the shooters’ positions on the hangar floor, Gary leaned back on one hand and rested his arm across his bent knee, and said casually, “Did you know that Randy is considered one of the best snipers in the world?”

Dale’s head swiveled slowly in his direction, as if wondering where he had come from. Gary smiled at him and said slowly, “Would you like a… hard and fast lesson on why?”

Randy eyed him and scowled.

Dale nodded once. Gary lifted a finger and pointed at Randy. “Keep your eyes on him.”

Randy shook his head almost imperceptibly and returned his gaze to the guys preparing to call fire.

“The rifle goes into the pocket of the shoulder, as you know,” he said quietly, knowing better than to disturb Randy’s concentration. It didn’t matter that it was merely pigeons they were shooting. If Randy was making the effort, he wouldn’t brook distractions, not even from him.

But the insides of his thighs were already starting to sweat because he could see tiny muscles in Randy’s thighs constantly and minutely flexing to keep the rest of him perfectly balanced on his knees.

It was just him, Randy and this kid over here in the corner, and he didn’t care to stop himself from slowly getting hard from the image of Randy on his knees not five feet away from him. He ran his tongue over his lips, and continued. “Notice that he’s holding it so firmly that any recoil on the rifle will barely make it out alive.”

Dale stared at Randy as if in a trance.

“He masters what he holds in his hands. He doesn’t tremble, even faintly. He masters his breathing…”

He found himself exhaling somewhat loudly through his mouth, and stopped it.

“Breathing control keeps the rifle on target, and most snipers will fire on exhalation. But Randy holds his breath.” He let his out quietly. “And can do so for… a long time.”

Dale had sank onto his haunches, but was still raptly watching Randy, who was as motionless as carved stone.

“He lets his body find its natural position, and when he does so his body can remain in that position… for hours.” He stopped, having completely lost his train of thought, remembering instead what it was like when Randy found his natural position alone with him.

It had been too damned long.

Vaguely, he heard the call to prepare for fire, and made himself think again. “That way, the rifle finds the target naturally, in concert with his body. Then he closes his eyes and relaxes.”

Randy’s eyes drifted closed, and his breathing leveled off flawlessly. In the next instant somebody yelled “Fire!” and Randy opened his eyes and squeezed off twelve rounds in a fluid arc.

There was silence for a few seconds after the cracks stopped coming from all over the hangar, and then wild cheers went up.

Randy made safe his weapon and laid it flat on the ground beside him. He turned to Dale. “We’re done here. Thanks.”

Dale stood up and glanced at Gary with an unfulfilled look, mumbling his thanks. Gary smiled and waved at him, then held his head in his hands and laughed quietly to himself, at himself. And poor Dale.

Randy stood up and approached Sanderson, telling him he would handle disposing of the remains.

“You long gunners are a _thorough_ bunch,” Sanderson exclaimed approvingly, and directed the Rangers into two-man search and retrieval teams.

Gary shook his head in amazement. Randy, when in an extreme state of arousal, was nothing short of devious. He appeared perfectly calm, but he was avoiding looking in Gary’s direction, which was a dead giveaway to Gary.

He stood up after him and they took the bagged remains from the Rangers and walked out through the back doors towards the dark beach.

“Men, we are squared away,” Sanderson cackled from somewhere behind them.

They worked in silence on the beach, setting up a tiny bonfire securely ringed with rocks. They dumped the contents of the bag, which included charcoal and pieces of planks that the Rangers had thoughtfully included, and lit it, bidding a final farewell to the pigeon plague.

“So,” Gary began midly. “Dale Sizemore.”

“I will ignore it, and it will go away.”

“Oh?” Gary pouted. “How can you be so mean? I remember how you were at that age, over a certain Secret Service agent.”

“And, I will throw you into the ocean for the sharks if you insist on continuing this conversation.”

Since they were right at the water’s edge, Gary held his tongue.

They stood a few feet apart from each other, having no external reason to stand any closer, making a pretense of watching the dying bonfire. It was hard. Gary cursed silently, knowing it was nevertheless something, appreciating that it was time Randy had stolen for them.

“Must you tease so incessantly,” Randy complained after a few moments.

Gary grinned into the night air. “And must you squeeze that trigger so hard.”

They stood laughing quietly at each other.

But soon their bonfire was dead and there was no further excuse to stand out here. They turned and walked back in silence.

They were so careful, all the time, but god help him if he wasn’t able to find a way to touch Randy tonight. And yet it didn’t look like it was going to happen. The Rangers were wired from the evening’s activities, and that meant they weren’t going to fall asleep soon enough. Which meant most of their guys were going to be awake late.

Which ultimately meant there was no falling asleep at all for him.

When they reached the back door entrance he sighed and stopped, motioning for Randy to continue inside without him. Randy stared at him for a few seconds before going into the hangar.

He didn’t know how long he stood out there, staring out across the ocean, calculating wind velocity and distances, until he became aware the night was now tranquil. The base had finally retired for the night.

He went to his cot and laid down, glancing at the blankets screening Randy’s area before turning on his side and closing his eyes.

He started counting sheep to fall asleep, and at one hundred and twenty he heard Randy shift and climb out of his cot.

Gary’s heart stuttered, but he made himself wait. After two more minutes he climbed out of his own bed in absolute silence and walked out to the hallway behind the hangar where he had been earlier that night.

He had just stepped out past the doors of the hallway itself and into the night when he felt fingers dig into the waistband of his khakis, and without another thought he turned around and crushed himself into Randy’s body.

Randy drew backwards against the concrete wall with his legs spread and Gary settled between them, bending knees and pushing upwards into Randy’s crotch. A pained groan escaped him.

“Shhh,” Randy breathed against his cheek. He slid his hands under Gary’s t-shirt and spread his palms over his back. Gary opened his mouth and measured his breathing, in and out, trying to stop the world from spinning behind his closed eyelids.

Randy made a low sound of appreciation in his throat. “You don’t breathe against my ear often enough.”

Gary turned his head slightly and stuck his tongue out. He breathed and waited for Randy to catch on to what he was about to do. It took a couple of seconds, but when Randy’s hands spread wide and gripped his torso, he knew he was ready.

He slid his tongue over the shell of Randy’s ear, and felt Randy’s blunt fingernails dig in deep. He retracted his tongue, then slowly pushed it fully into Randy’s ear. Randy inhaled sharply, held it for an eternity as Gary knew he could, while Gary lapped his ear. Then he let it out in short controlled gusts.

Gary’s heart pounded with anticipation as he waited for the faint trembling he knew was coming. He grew harder just knowing he could cause Randy the kind of trembling nothing else could, the kind that Randy couldn’t control no matter how hard he tried. Slowly, he felt it, and groaned with intense satisfaction.

Randy opened his mouth and rubbed it all over his, swallowing his moans before sliding his tongue inside.

Gary gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise and returned the kiss with abandon. It didn’t happen often enough, and for that reason it was sometimes too intense.

He pushed his hands between their bodies and unbuttoned and unzipped both their shorts and pulled out their stiff cocks. Randy’s hands slid down his back, pulling his shorts half way down his ass, holding them tight and using them as leverage to bump against him. Gary did the same to his shorts then bumped right back, but after the third push, and with Randy still sucking on his tongue, he was done playing.

He growled because there was nothing on the wall to hold onto, but Randy’s hips would do. He was able to grind slowly at first, with Randy rotating sweetly into him, then they were moving mindlessly, until their cocks and upper thighs were soaking and sticking with sweat and semen.

“Gary,” Randy keened quietly. “That feels so good.” Gary whimpered something he didn’t himself understand. “Please,” Randy pleaded. “Please don’t stop for anything.”

Randy’s words burned into his body as he found his rhythm and irrationally vowed to go all night, to hear Randy whisper to him till morning.

Randy pressed his open mouth into his cheek and licked him at the same pace Gary was imposing on their bodies. “Fuck me until you come,” he crooned, and Gary heard himself groan desperately as his climax suddenly loosened across his body.

He shuddered and Randy held him tight, and then tighter still as he too hit his peak. They bucked against each other, then pushed hard, then they stilled and quietly choked out their gasps as they spurted against each other’s clenched stomach.

At last they were both spent. They collapsed against the wall, trying to hold each other up.

When their breathing was halfway back to normal they began to kiss leisurely. Gary closed his eyes and relished the feeling of not having to hurry now that they had found some satisfaction for the time being. And especially since they would both most definitely be sleeping in.

_End_


End file.
